


How to Save a Life

by RTSideStories



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Human, Hospice Care, M/M, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RTSideStories/pseuds/RTSideStories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's been put into rehab to learn how to live his life without the use of his legs.  He meets Stiles, who isn't about to let Derek give up.  How will Derek repay Stiles' compassion?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Save a Life

 

 

Derek glared down angrily at his legs. Disgusting, worthless legs. They just lied there, on the wheel chair's foot rests and did nothing. He felt nothing there.

Being rolled down the narrowing hallways, the orderlies opened the doors for him. He caught the sight of “Beacon Hills Rehabilitation and Hospice Wing” on the door.

“We're almost there Mr. Hale. You'll have a roommate, and we apologize for that. We'll find you a single room as soon as it becomes available,” another nameless face said. In that same fucking tone that he hated. Pity. That was all he heard these days was pity.

“I don't NEED special treatment just because my sister is on the Board. I've had a goddamn roommate for three years, I can handle one now. I'm not a fucking DAISY,” Derek shouted.

The orderly nodded, clearing his throat nervously. “Ah, yes... Well, I'll pass that on to Director Laura. In the meantime, here we are! Room 626,” he chuckled, trying to break the painful tension.

Derek groaned mentally. The room was everything he'd feared it would be. One of those piss-poor hospital beds with all kinds of monitors and signals. The staff would know everything about his body before he did himself.

It took three orderlies to lift Derek out of his wheelchair. 200 some odd pounds of pure deadweight muscle was hard to lift.

Derek bit his tongue, trying not to die of shame. He couldn't even lift himself out of the chair or help them in any way. Useless. That's all he was.

Two of the orderlies left in a hurry, trying not to make direct eye contact with his angry glare. The third, named “Lahey, Isaac”, based on his name tag, took a deep breath.

“If you need to use the restroom, shower, or just need someone to help you out, please press the Call button. The nursing staff will send someone down to help you out. TV remote is shared, though your sister informed me you prefer to read. We have a bookmobile that comes around twice a day, and you're free to take as many as you like. My personal page is 983, so if you press that into the phone, it will buzz me to come to your room. I'm your assigned orderly, so I'm here to do anything to make your stay here more comfortable. Any questions?” he asked, with a pleasant smile.

In another world, the kid's curly brown hair and beaming smile could have gotten him on the cover of GQ. Derek might have even been attracted to him, if he wasn't a worthless mound of flesh stuck to a bed.

“Do I at least get to wipe my own ass?” Derek spat.

Isaac, very uncomfortably, nodded. “Yes Mr. Hale... We merely assist you onto the toilet until you're strong enough to support yourself. After a few weeks in rehab, you'll be able to get up and down off the bed on your own and live independently. We're just-”

“Please go away. I'd rather lie in my own filth,” Derek said, interrupting Isaac's speech.

Nodding, Isaac backed away and left out the door.

Taking a deep breath, Derek turned to his side table. His family had already sent his things from the ICU, so he assumed most of his clothes and belongings would be in the table.

Opening up one of the many easy-access drawers, Derek produced a small hardback book. A condensed version of the Iliad, it was the only book long enough that made him forget about his situation and pass the time. Classics were what got him through the days. Something about the way they were written demanded more attention than modern fiction.

Derek returned to the page he'd left off the night before and began skimming the contents.

“Rehab or Hospice?” his roommate asked.

“Excuse me?” Derek asked, turning to the body that had been snoozing since he'd arrived. Getting a better look at him, he looked like a teenager. His hair had been shaved off, but he otherwise looked completely healthy. The way he was bouncing his legs up and down shot a pang of jealousy through Derek's body.

The teen huffed, stretching out as he yawned. “In this part of the hospital, there's only two kinds of people that stay. People here for rehab and learning how to live with certain illnesses and disabilities, and people here for hospice care that are about to kick the bucket. Which one are you?” he asked, clearly put out by Derek's ignorance.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Rehab,” he shot back curtly, hoping to return to his book.

“So what fucked you up?” the motor-mouth asked.

Suppressing the urge to chuck his reading material at the kid, Derek shook his head.

“Motorcycle accident while I was out with my girlfriend. Some drunk driver ran into me. I'm not paralyzed, but he fucked up my knees bad enough that I won't walk again. They tried replacing them, but there was just too much damage. I'm not going to walk again, so they're making me learn how to live with just my two arms and a chair,” he said, clenching his book tightly.

“Pfft. LAME. Here I was hoping I'd have a roomie with something cool! Like flesh eating bacteria, or lupus or SOMETHING. Mutilated legs? Pfffffft. Weak hospital game, dude, so weak. At least the last guy had a maimed arm after he pulled a kid out of a burning building! Now THAT was cool,” the kid responded, speaking at a million miles a second.

“You're not a normal person, are you?”Derek answered back.

The teen smirked. “Meh, life's too boring if you're normal. I'm Stiles, by the way,” he said happily.

“Derek,” he responded, turning his attention back to his book. “I'd like to finish reading this, if you don't mind. I've got upper body therapy at noon, and my mother is going to sob over me like the invalid that I am at four. I'm sure my sister will be by with her vomit-inducing optimism over the advancement of medical science and how it might not be a few years before prosthetic could completely revolutionize knee therapy,” he spat, turning a page that he'd barely even read.

“I hear ya man... I hear ya... Just getting the deets, if you know what I mean. Gets boring around here all the time, and I can only watch the Young and the Restless so many times before I want to claw my eyes out. Also, the bookmobile sucks. All they ever have is the shit like 50 shades or Twilight. I need me a good Dickens, and I don't mean the type that goes up asses,” Stiles said, laughing to himself at his joke.

Derek huffed, and reached into his drawer again. He didn't have any of Dickens, the pretentious twat of an author that he was, but he did throw Stiles a copy of Wuthering Heights. “There. Read. Get un-bored. You're a pain in the ass,” he commanded.

“SWEET. Isaac got me Great Expectations on his lunch break one day, but I've read it like twenty times! Thanks dude,” Stiles said, immediately cracking the cover.

They sat in silence for all of ten minutes.

“Oh, dude, forgot to ask. What happened to the girlfriend? She okay?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head, as he turned the page on his book. “She's a vegetable. Her parents are taking her off life support next week. To answer your next question, yes they do blame me, and no I do not get to go to the funeral. I killed my girlfriend, end of story,” he answered coldly.

Stiles didn't bother speaking for the rest of the day.

 

+

 

Despite their initial meeting, Derek had decided that Stiles was mildly useful. He would walk and had no outwardly awful injuries that prevented him from doing anything. In reality, he looked as though he were in perfect health. Apparently rehab did work, if Stiles was any indication.

At least, healthy enough that Stiles could get Derek basically anything he wanted, without having to call the nurses or orderlies.

The first week of rehab was painful enough that Derek felt as though his arms and upper body were on fire. After an hour of suffering and groaning, Stiles had retrieved him an ice pack, several cool washcloths, and a brownie. Derek hadn't even asked, but thanked him as the cold packs really did help his arms.

Stiles never had any visitors, but Derek did. Visitors that Derek hated. Stiles must have picked up on that fact, and would often press the “Call Nurse” button, complaining of some sort of migraine. Nurse McCall, Stiles' caretaker, would always shoo out anyone in the room, and apologize to Derek. After the third time, Derek thanked him.

Everything was a one way street with their relationship, but Derek gave zero fucks.

Except, until the first Sunday of the month. Derek had finally caved and begged for Stiles' assistance.

With that, Isaac and Stiles managed to get him in his wheelchair, where he'd been led up to the elevator and allowed on the roof. Technically, they shouldn't be there, but nobody seemed to fuss too horribly.

Stiles spread out eagle-style on the concrete top, letting the sun hit his face and pretending to tan, despite the hospital gown that covered his body.

They sat in silence, at least until Stiles got bored with fake-tanning and rolled over to make eye contact with Derek.

“So what got your panties in a twist that you begged me to wheel you up here?” Stiles finally asked.

Derek sighed.

“The first Sunday of every month, my entire family comes to visit. ALL of them. I have five brothers and sisters, my parents, my aunt and uncle, and a couple of cousins. They also bring my best friends from college. It is non-stop visiting hours from HELL,” Derek mumbled.

Stiles stretched his arms out into the air as he stood up, throwing off his hospital gown to let his T-shirt and Yoga pants get a little more breathing room. “Seriously, are they THAT bad?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Mom blames herself for buying me the “death cycle”. My sister Laura blames herself for not having the right connections to get me the best doctors or not supporting hospital research more. I have two younger brothers who look at me like I'm a broken toy that can't be touched anymore. Cora, my younger sister, just stares at me and doesn't know what to say. Then there's my dad, Kyle. He tries to be supportive and tell me about all the ways I can “work through” my disability, but frankly he's just disappointed that I'm not going to be the star football player he wanted.

“You did football?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded. “I liked lacrosse better in high school, but dad pushed me into football. Did the college scene for a couple of years, and I had NFL prospects. Those are dead now, by the way. Just like my college education,” he griped.

“Why's it dead? Come on, I've seen the shit they bring you. That copy of Wuthuring Heights was like a first edition, and I know they brought you an iPad and a Kindle with like a million books on them. You are fucking LOADED,” Stiles said, moving over to Derek and ribbing him in the side.

Huffing, Derek rubbed his forehead. “There is no way in hell I'm going back to that campus. Everyone will just look at me with pity and stare at the freak show. My friends that come by? They say how everyone misses me, and wants me to come back soon. WHY? I'm not useful anymore!” he spat angrily.

Stiles shrugged. “Well, then don't go back there. Find another college! Do it online! There's like a million ways to get a degree these days. But, I mean, if your friends want you back, why don't you want that? Hell, if I ever had any friends, I'd want to go back to them,” he answered.

Laughing, Derek smirked. “Yeah. How long do you think it's going to be before my FRIENDS get bored of the novelty. I'm a worthless lump of skin that can't even take a shit by himself right now. Do you REALLY think they'd want me back? No. Why the hell am I even bothering with rehab, my life is over,” he said, laughing loudly.

Derek didn't stop laughing. He laughed, and laughed and laughed more and more. Laughing at Stiles, laughing at himself, and finally wiping away tears from the laughter. “I wish I could just di-”

Stiles slapped Derek across the face. The echo of the slap sounded more like glass cracking than skin meeting skin. Stiles had left a red mark on Derek's face, which already started to bruise.

“Man the fuck up,” Stiles said, in a dark tone Derek wasn't aware the teen had.

Stiles was shaking, breathing in and out with a noticeable struggle.

”I'm not going to sit here and let you be like all these whiny LOSERS in the rehab center. The assholes who “give up” on having a life because it's too hard, or they want to be like they used to be. Derek, you're NEVER getting your legs back. Quit pretending that you are or that your old life is coming back! It's NOT” he yelled.

It was Derek's turn to shake.

“Dude, you're disabled, not dying. Sure, it sucks that you got dealt a bad hand, but it could be a HELL of a lot worse. There's no reason you can't live an ordinary life now. If you weren't such a damn recluse wallowing in your own self pity, you might go out to the rec room and HEAR some stories of people who REALLY have it bad,” Stiles said, grabbing Derek by the hem of his hospital shirt's collar. “Nora Ren in room 645 is the single mother of two kids, and she's got maybe six weeks to live. Her kids are in foster care, and are going to be split up for the rest of her life,” Stiles said, now shaking Derek by his collar. “Mr. Peterson in 623? He's got MAYBE a week to live, and his kids won't come see him. All he wants out of life right now is to see his grand kids one more time before he dies, and he CAN'T HAVE THAT,” Stiles yelled, as tears poured out of his face. “Angela Grisby has Huntington’s disease and is TRAPPED in her body while she has no control over it. Her daughter and husband cry every time they see her, and are just now waiting for her to die,” he finished, dropping to his knees.

Derek felt Stiles let go of his collar, and felt his blood rush out of his body. He was cold, ashamed and hated himself more than ever.

“Do you know why they put rehab and hospice in the same area around here? It's not just because it's convenient, but because rehab assholes can see how BAD it can really be! You should be fighting MORE because you're not them!” Stiles screamed. “Don't you EVER, and I mean EVER say that you want to die. Derek Hale, you have a LIFE. You're going to get to LIVE and maybe happy again someday. Maybe not today, and maybe not this month, but SOMEDAY, you're going to be happy,” Stiles said, calming down as he clubbed his head on Derek's knee.

“As for your family? Well damn, Derek, have you SEEN yourself in a mirror lately? I've known you all of a month, and you have this “I'm dead inside” vibe about you. No wonder your family is hurting. You're in pain and won't let them in. You're their brother, son, cousin and nephew. You meant something to them, and now you're blocking them out. How'd you feel if Cora was the one who couldn't walk, and then just all of a sudden didn't want you in her life?” Stiles said, laughing to himself.

Derek shut his eyes. More of the cold went through his body, and he shivered. The very thought of Cora hurt set him ill, and he wanted to vomit.

In an instant Stiles stood up, took a deep breath and slapped Derek on the other side of the face.

“Do your goddamn therapy till you can't stand it anymore, tell your family how you feel, and for fuck's sake, ACT LIKE YOU WANT TO LIVE! I'll help you get through the rough spots, but you've got to make an effort too,” Stiles said, with a beaming smile.

Derek finally reopened his eyes. He wasn't crying. They'd been cooking onions next door. At least that's what he told himself.

He hadn't cried since the accident. He hadn't cried since he knew he'd never walk again. He didn't cry when his girlfriend Paige lacked any brain activity. He didn't even cry when they told him Paige had finally died. Everything festered on the inside, making him hate himself and wishing death.

Stiles had finally made him cry.

“Hey... It's okay, you're gonna be fine now, got it?” Stiles said, sitting on Derek's lap and letting the older man cry on his shoulder.

The two sat like that for several hours. Derek didn't cry through all of it, though Stiles did talk through all of it. Inspirational quotes, motivational speeches, and some weird thing about male circumcision.

When it was over, however, it was over.

Derek leaned up his head and finally nodded at Stiles.

“Okay,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Okay?” Stiles asked, holding his hand out to Derek. “Hospital buddies?” he asked excitedly.

Derek scoffed. “Hospital buddies,” he said, shaking Stiles' hand firmly.

Which dropped Stiles' guard long enough for Derek to slap him in the cheek.

“OW! That hurt!” Stiles shrieked, rubbing his chin painfully.

“Don't slap me again, or I'll throw your skinny ass off the roof,” Derek demanded, pointing his finger directly in Stiles' face.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Like your wimpy ass could actually-”

Derek slapped him again.

 

+

 

Changing overnight was impossible for Derek. Hell, it would be impossible for most people. Even after getting most of his emotional baggage out in the open, he maintained his same frame of mind for several weeks.

He griped and complained about therapy and went into pity parties.

Fearing Derek's slap, Stiles would wheel him into the rec room against his will, for “therapy night”. A patient-invented free time event where Hospice cases shared their stories to the people in rehab.

Getting fresh reminders on a daily basis eventually slapped Derek's ass and got him moving again.

Derek never missed a therapy session, began actually calling some of his old friends to come visit for a few hours, and finally informed his professors that he'd be back the following semester to re-take the classes he'd had to drop due to the accident.

Isaac was finally able to help Derek without the angry glare, though on the condition that Isaac help him less and less as his therapy went on. While technically going against hospital regulations, Isaac allowed Derek to get himself out of bed and into his wheelchair about a week earlier than his physical trainer had allowed. Though Isaac allowed it, because as Derek said, “that pansy-ass trainer is boring me”. Stiles tried not to beam on the third day, when Derek was FINALLY able to do it 100% on his own.

After Derek regained a moderate amount of independence, the man's attitude finally changed.

Which is why Stiles was especially happy on the first Sunday of the following month, when Derek didn't hide from his family. Instead, he waited patiently for them to arrive in his shared room.

Stiles had glanced in awe of Derek's massive family, and how they all let off a air of cautiousness to finally see Derek all at once again.

The mother, Talia, was the first to step up. She kissed Derek on the forehead, and nearly fainted when Derek took her in his arms and hugged her.

“Hi mom... Glad you could come,” Derek said, letting the hug linger for what seemed like a solid minute.

The rest of the family, save for the younger boys, glanced at each other in awe.

After finally letting his mother go, Derek cleared his throat, stopping Cora, his sister, as she came up to hug him next. “Before we uh... I mean, before we talk, I um... I want to apologize,”

The room went deathly quiet.

Stiles tried not to short as Derek's father dropped a vase of get well flowers that banged on his dresser loudly.

All eyes were on Derek, and he knew it.

“I know I've been a bastard to be around the last couple of months, and... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all the yelling, and screaming and hateful things I've said. I'm sorry for hiding and being a bitch, and I just... You're my family, and you didn't deserve that. I was just mad at the world and even madder at myself. I... I'm just sorry all around,” Derek explained, finally taking a deep breath. “And... I'm getting better. I can go to the bathroom and bathe on my own, and my physical trainer says I'm building more muscle and recovering faster than he expect. I'm in a good spot, both physically and mental, and I'd like you guys to get me out of here for the night and take me to dinner. Nurse McCall already said it was fine. I'd... I'd like to know what's been going on for a while in the family, and the hospital food sucks so I'd really like a huge steak and-,”

Derek didn't even get a chance to finish his rant before Laura, Cora, his mother, and his aunt all grabbed him and hugged him within an inch of his life. There was gross sobbing, kisses, and more “thank god, he's back” than Stiles had expected. In the back, Stiles saw Derek's father crying into their Uncle Peter's shoulder. The guy looked a tad creepy, but Stiles totally saw him wiping a tear when he faked a cough.

“For fuck's sake, this isn't Oprah, I want a STEAK already,” Derek finally said, crying in the same process.

Stiles grinned over in his corner, taking hi eyes away for just a moment at the feeling of cell phone to his side buzzing. He grabbed it, and immediately read the message.

 

_Dad: Hey Son, how's your day going? Any more migraines?_

 

Smiling, Stiles chuckled to himself, catching one last glimpse of Derek's happy family. His younger brothers had climbed on his lap and were hugging him as though he'd been away for a thousand years. Promises of Legos presents for their big brother were being made faster than Stiles could understand.

 

_Stiles: Well, one massive headache just literally cleared up. Feelin' good dad, feelin' good._

_Dad: Let me guess.. This Derek guy you've been talking about?_

_Stiles: Yep. Big ol' family reunion. Just call me Dr. Stiles! Dr. Phil can go fuck himself._

_Dad: Ha. Yes he can. More importantly, how are you feeling? Should I fly back?_

 

“Stiles?”

 

Looking up from his phone, Stiles was met with a pair of caramel brown eyes that dripped with tears.

“I'm Talia Hale, Derek's mother. I'm sorry if we're disturbing you,” the woman said, bowing at Stiles.

Stiles shook his head. “Nah, I like a little livelihood around here. Be as loud as you want!” he offered, putting his cell phone away for the moment.

“I'm glad... Derek hasn't been himself since the accident, and well... We didn't think we'd ever get him back. To hear him actually wanting to be around us? Well, we're just a little-”

“Mom, stop,” another female voice exclaimed.

Stiles turned to the dark haired woman with the same facial structure as Derek. Clearly, they'd both gotten their father's looks.

“Sorry, mom's a little emotional right now,” she said, putting her hand out to Stiles. “I'm Doctor Laura Hale, although I've been more of a Director around these parts in the last three years. Sorry I haven't seen you yet. I try to visit all the patients, but Derek's not really wanted company up until now,” she explained, shaking Stiles' hand fervently.

“Nice to meet you. This place has been good to me,” Stiles responded, speaking straight from the heart.

Laura glanced at his chart, pulling it off the bed. “Let's just make sure you're getting taken extra special care of. Look's like you been here for about half a year, and you're in for-”

Stiles watched Laura's face do the same thing all the nurses did when they didn't know. Mrs. McCall had been the worst, actually falling to the floor and sobbing in a heap.

Laura nearly dropped the chart, and looked at Stiles as though he were a lost puppy that had just been run over by a steamroller. He brought up a finger to his lips and gently shushed her.

“Stiles, I am so-” Laura started to say, as Stiles shushed her again.

“It's alright. Just... Just don't tell Derek, okay? He's in a good mood today,” Stiles said, shooting Laura a beaming smile.

Director Hale nodded, and whispered quietly in Talia's ear. Talia, in turn, then shot Stiles the “grieving mother” look, and clutched her heart as though she were going to pass out.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles rolled over, trying to glance outside the window. He didn't want to look them in the faces right now.

“Say Stiles, you wanna come? I bet Nurse McCall would let you out too!” Derek offered happily.

Again, Stiles didn't look back to his hospital buddy.

“I'm fine Derek, you have fun with your family. Maybe next time, I'm getting a migraine,” Stiles replied, in his typical sing-song tune.

 

+

 

It hadn't taken long for Derek to finish the remainder of his treatment. Once the Doctor knew he'd been able to get in and out of bed on his own and maintain independence for a week, he'd placed Derek in the home stretch of their rehabilitation program. Which was basically just Derek talking to a psychiatrist and making sure he was mentally fit to leave.

Which, after spending every Saturday and Sunday out on “visit days” to his favorite restaurants and movie theatres with his family, Derek had no problem passing.

On his last day in the hospital, Derek was giddy. He'd already been wheeling around the room in his chair, packing up his belongings so that his family didn't have to clean up after him.

Stiles watched happily from the sidelines. “When you getting out?” he asked.

Beaming, Derek shook his head in disbelief. “9 AM. They ran a couple of blood tests and are just waiting on the Doctor to give his final approval. Can't fucking wait!” he said happily.

“That's awesome! So you're moving back in with your family?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded. “Yeah. They made everything wheelchair accessible for me, and moved my old room to the first floor. Aunt Sara is going to give me rides to school until I learn how to drive one of those special cars with the push pull stick. I might move out, but since football died for me, I figured I'd stay at home until I got my doctorate in English,” he said, throwing a handful of books into his luggage.

“Seriously? Dr. Hale? Gonna teach?” Stiles said proudly.

Derek nodded. “Yeah. I mean, there's only so much I can do in this world now. But one thing I've always been skilled at is literature. I figure if I'm going to live, I might as well do something I love doing!” he offered.

“That's good! I bet you'll be amazing at it,” Stiles replied, leaning back and shutting his eyes against the pillow.

For a moment, Derek stopped packing.

“Thanks Stiles, for everything. You kicked my ass these last couple of months. I've never had anyone do that for me before. I'd always just been so strong on my own, that I never needed a push. It was only when I was weak and didn't have that strength that I realized how bad off I actually was,” Derek said, taking a deep breath. “You saved my life. Maybe not literally, but you saved my life. You made me want to live again, and there's just no way I think I could ever repay you,” he offered, taking a longing peek at Stiles.

Over the months, he'd gone from annoying roommate to annoying as hell roommate to hospital buddy and then finally...

Derek shook his head.

“You know... You never told me why you're here. When you getting out? I so want to buy you a drink. Hell, if you're available right now, I wouldn't mind a date,” Derek said, chuckling as he rummaged through his books. He tried not to picture Stiles' reaction, though after months of subtle flirting, he figured the sarcasm would flow off his hospital buddy.

Instead, all he was met with was silence.

“Stiles?” Derek repeated, finally turning back to his friend.

Having shifted away from Derek, Stiles was now staring at a blank wall.

“I'm here for hospice,” Stiles bluntly said, in a frail monotone.

Derek's gut dropped, and he felt the book in his hands slip through his frozen fingers.

“You... You're what?” Derek stuttered, trying to hold in the crazy as long as he could. Stiles had to be kidding. This was a sick joke he was going to slap Stiles for later.

Stiles chuckled. “I'm not getting out of here Derek. I'm here waiting to die, and waiting for the day they bring in the morphine drip. So I can die with a little dignity and not feel it when it comes. I appreciate the offer, but... I uh... I don't think dating me would be smart, since I'm going to die soon,” he said.

Derek couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He sat in his chair and felt everything hurt again. Not the kind of hurt after the accident, but like someone had gutted him and he was bleeding out into the world.

Stiles took a deep breath. “There's like a super-tiny tumor growing on my brain. No doctor wants to operate, because it's so close to a sensitive nerve pocket, and the tumor is so small that there's a big chance that they slip up and stab my brain. Even when my dad promises that he'd never sue and we both want them to just TRY, they just... They just don't want to risk their insurance going up. I mean, that's the medical field here in America. Everything's about the all mighty dollar,” he grumbled.

Slowly, Derek wheeled to Stiles' side. He put his hand on Stiles' back and felt the boy flinch at the touch.

“It's what killed my mom too. Of course, back then about ten years ago, nobody even knew what it was. I just watched my mom go crazy and die in agonizing pain. I got to see firsthand how bad it's gonna be and how much it's going to hurt. My mom... She... She banged her head against the wall so hard that she nearly killed herself by splitting open her skull. Mom wanted to end it that badly. That's what I get to look forward to,” Stiles whispered.

Derek barely felt the tears fall down his face.

“Bout a month or two, I'll lose my motor functions once the tumor latches into my brain stem. Right now it's dormant, but it's already moving. After that, I'll get a brand of dementia that makes me see things that aren't there and lose my short-term memory. By that point, I'll be in diapers, because I won't be able to control my bowels. I'll be scared all the time, but still have my mind,” Stiles explained, curling instinctively into a fetal position.

“The last bit? Well, the tumor will attack the part of my brain that regulates pain. That's when they'll bring in the morphine and give me the button. I'll press it so much that I won't ever feel anything ever again, until my organs shut down and my brain dies from overdose. I'm not going out like mom did, scared and pain ridden. My nurse, Mrs. McCall, already said she'd take off the regulator pin that would keep me from committing suicide. She said it's the least she can do for me,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath as his words started to stutter at the end. “That... That's my plan. I made it up with my dad when they found it about a year or two ago. I... I did most of the stuff on my bucket list,” he chuckled.

Derek felt his other hand travel to Stiles' side and grip it tightly.

“Is there any way to... Save you? Stiles.. I... I...” Derek said, feeling his ability to use words fail him.

Stiles slumped over, meeting Derek's eyes. Still crying, he nodded.

“It's not an expensive operation, we just can't find a good enough doctor to do it. That's why my dad isn't here and I don't have visitors. He's taken a leave of absence from work and ran off to every state that has a neuro-center. They thought they found someone at Arkansas Children's Hospital, but the waiting list is years long to get treatment. He's in New York now, on his last efforts to find someone. We don't have long, but he's trying. My best friend Scott is with him. You know, trying the whole “I'm his best friend you've got to save him” schtick, hoping that they'll guilt someone into trying. It... It hasn't worked,” he whispered.

“Stiles.. Stiles, I'm so...”

“Don't say you're sorry!” Stiles shouted immediately.

Sitting up, Stiles put on a big smile.

“I wanted to graduate, Derek. I wanted to go to college, have sex, and maybe have a family full of kids. I'll never get to have any of that. I'm going to die a high school dropout and a virgin. I'm not only never having a family, but I'm leaving my dad by himself. None of this is your fault Derek, so don't say you're sorry!” he exclaimed. Stiles was shaking by this point.

“Just... Just live for me, okay? Go out there and love life, even if it sucks, because at least you get to live it. I'm sorry if I got pissy with you on the roof that day, but you guys just... You rehab guys always pissed me off. How “hard” it was to work through whatever shit you were going through. Do you know how hard I'd be fighting if I could live? I'd run all day long, every day, just to have a little more time. Hell, I'd chop off my dick just to have another YEAR,” Stiles sobbed.

Derek hugged Stiles with all the strength he could muster. He lifted himself off his chair and into Stiles' bed with him. Crying into Stiles' shoulder, Derek shook with him.

“Will you live for me Derek? Promise me you'll finish school, that's... That's always been my dream, to get a college diploma. Nobody in my family ever did that. But... I mean, you're like... You're like my friend right? If you did it, then... Then maybe I'd... Maybe I'd have a diploma by association. Or some shit,” Stiles cried, laughing into Derek's shoulder.

Hours passed.

Neither spoke.

8:30 AM came, and Stiles finally broke the hug that he and Derek had kept the entire night.

“If you have any kids, don't give them shitty first names,” Stiles said, letting one final laugh out before Derek's parents would arrive.

 

+

 

 

Private rooms for hospice patients meant only one thing and one thing only. That they would be dying soon, and didn't want the other patients to see.

An observation, rather than direct proof. Though Stiles knew it had to be true. Being the stalker that he was, the private hospice rooms always had the worst of the worst in them. He'd seen over 20 people die, and had sat with 10 of them through their last hours. A morbid curiosity of what he'd be going through in the next few months, he was disappointed with the statistical average.

Three of them had talked about a white light and how beautiful it was. Two just fell asleep and never woke back up. The last five just cried a lot and made Stiles hold their hand, as they went quiet and their bodies went limp.

Though all ten had the same effect on Stiles. The moment the heart monitor flat lined, he cried. Because it was at that moment that he couldn't know any more about them. He couldn't ask where they were, because they didn't exist anymore.

He would be no exception to that.

So when Isaac had been ordered to move Stiles into the private room, they both watched each other nervously as Stiles' bed was pushed through the hospital. A lot of the rehab and hospice friends he'd made over the months watched him in awe, many saluting him or breaking out into tears.

Isaac teared up, naturally, given the friendship that had built up over the months of his stay. They both knew, but neither wanted to say it. Instead, Isaac took his lunch break and watched a disappointing episode of Young and the Restless, while Stiles drank an illegally obtained bottle of beer that Isaac had snuck him.

After the third day in his private room, Stiles texted his dad to come home. There wasn't any use in him looking anymore. If the tumor had moved, there was no surgery that would save him now. The message back had been painful.

 

_Dad: I need just a few more days Stiles._

_Stiles: Dad, I'm in a private room._

_Dad: I'll be on the next plane home._

 

He didn't bother to call his dad. Saying it over the phone wasn't right. Even if the illness struck him immediately, he'd have more or less a week or two to get through it. He could last a day.

Sure enough, to his word, Stiles' dad and best friend burst through his door the next day in the evening.

His father, John Stilinksi, hadn't shaved in what looked like a month, wearing a full beard and dirty clothes that were stained with all manner of take out food. His body had gotten thinner, and Stiles noticed the grey slipping into his father's otherwise blonde hair.

Scott was a little better, though not by much. At least clean and clean shaven, his “brother” had the reddest eyes imaginable that would make a rabbit jealous. His body was weak, and he looked like he'd lost thirty pounds. All the muscle he'd built was gone.

They walked in, taking seats on each side of Stiles' bed.

“So uh... Welcome back,” Stiles said, trying to smile.

“The receptionist said the doctor would be in soon to tell us more. Apparently they've been waiting for some final confirmation?” John asked hastily. 

Stiles took a deep breath, waiting for the news. “Yeah. I asked your mom, Scott, and she said to just wait until everything was final. You know her... Never wants to give us what we want!” he joked, trying to laugh.

Instead, his joke stabbed Scott in the heart, as his best friend hid his head between his knees. He'd started crying again.

Already knowing his fate, Stiles shook his head. “I'm uh.. I'm not gonna have much time I guess. I.. I want to say all of this while I'm still ME. I don't want you guys around while I'm dying, because that guy is not going to be me. It's going to be crazy me who won't remember you, or might think you're like demons or something so... First of all, can you promise you won't see me like that? Please?” he begged, holding back the tears as he slammed his eyes shut.

John nodded immediately. “Y... Yes son... Y... Yes,” he managed to get out, covering his eyes as he squeezed Stiles' hand tighter.

Scott threw both his hands on his face, silently nodding. He hid his tears from John and Stiles.

“Dad... Dad, I want you to promise me something. Scott, you too,” Stiles said, feeling his emotions falter.

“You.. You guys get a week to be sad after I die, okay? A WEEK, that's all! After that, I want you both back in school and work. You guys WILL get therapy and you'll talk and cry and be sad for an hour, and you'll learn to live without me. You don't get to ruin your lives because I died, okay? That would totally piss me off,” Stiles said firmly,

“God, Stiles.. D.. Don't-”

Stiles squeezed his father's hand back. “Shut up. You didn't let me talk about this until you KNEW I was dying. I'm dying dad, I'm not coming back,” he said shortly.

Shooting up from his seat, Scott moved away and slammed his head against the window that led to the outside's night sky.

“Dad, I want stupid songs at my funeral. Like “Play that Funky Music White Boy”, or the Oktoberfest theme song. No sad shit. I never said this, but mom's funeral sucked. Don't make people sad! They're gonna be sad enough, I want LAUGHTER at my funeral. Hire a comedian or crap. Just... Just don't talk or have a priest give speeches. Make it a party, make it FUN. Please?” Stiles begged.

John bit his lip hard enough that it bled out, merely nodding to Stiles' request.

Stiles composure waned, finally unable to look his father in the eye. “Dad... Dad, you've got to marry again. I don't want you alone, and I don't want you thinking you'd be betraying mom or I, because you WON'T. I want you to be happy again, okay? I want you to have a wife and more kids, and love them like you loved us, because that's what you WANT. I know it is dad. It's OKAY to love again, okay? I promise!” he yelled.

John fell to his knees and out of his chair, clutching his son's hand as though he were holding on for dear life.

“Scott, man..” Stiles said, glaring at the back of his friend's head from across the room. “Don't... Don't go emo on me, because black sucks on you. You go to prom, you ask that Argent girl out, and you having a fucking BLAST. Do Senior Skip Day, and go back to playing Lacrosse, because you LOVE Lacrosse. Got it?! You fucking graduate, and do whatever the hell you want with your life that makes you happy. Don't like your asshole dad or Nurse McCall tell you how to live, because YOU be happy. I won't be happy unless you're happy, okay?” he spat out, as his voice finally gave way to tears.

Stiles shook, crying loudly as Scott rushed to his side and took his other hand.

“I love you guys so much.. I... I don't wanna go,” Stiles sobbed. “Fucking NOT FAIR. GRADE A COSMIC BULLSHIT, ALL OF IT! I GROW UP NERDY, NEVER GET TO HAVE SEX, AND NOW I GET TO DIE! FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WHAT DID I DO IN A PAST LIFE THAT WAS SO BAD?!” he screamed. Anger radiated out of his body, and he yelled as loudly as he could into the air. The private rooms had been soundproofed for this very reason.

 

+

 

Scott and John never left Stiles' side for a minute. Every ounce of his rage softened after a while, while John began begging to god for any hope. He offered his own life for his son's, and then immediately threatened to arrest God if He didn't.

Scott didn't fare much better. Though instead of begging or showing anger, Scott just sat and never said a word. He never let go of Stiles' arm, shuddering every moment his friend let go to use the facilities.

Eventually, the awful night broke and the early dawn hours shimmered through the glass windows.

Stiles stirred awake at the gentle knocking of the door.

“Stiles? Sweetie, are you awake? Can I come in?” Nurse McCall asked.

Scott froze with Stiles' hand, shuddering.

Standing up, John cleared his throat. “Come in,” he said, attempting to keep his voice straight.

Melissa opened the door, stepping through with a thick medical file. “Stilinski, Stiles” was written on the front.

“Stiles, I know this is going to be difficult, but-” Melissa started to say, silenced as she saw John and Scott. “My God, you both look like hell,” she whispered, hugging Scott as she moved by her son. “And smell. We're getting you both a shower,” she said authoritatively.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Scott smells like a used jockstrap, what else is new?” he tried to joke. He failed, as the life of his voice gave out mid-sentence.

Melissa shook her head. “Anyway.. Stiles, I'm going to need you to let me talk for a little while. No interrupting, got it?” she asked.

“Awesome. I guess Doc Anderson didn't want to tell me himself?” Stiles grumbled.

“Doctor Anderson is no longer your doctor,” Melissa responded.

John's face went pale. “Excuse me, but what?! Doctor Anderson has been on Stiles' case since the beginning! I've been making payments, he can't just cut off off now!” he shouted. The man's heart raced like an engine, and Stiles felt it as his father put their hands together.

Melissa smiled. “The Board of Directors has hired a new neurosurgeon and replaced Doctor Anderson. He'll be your new physician. His name is Dr. Martin,” she said, holding back a bubbling of emotions.

Stiles felt his heart tick. An upbeat of hope, if only for a moment.

“Dr. Martin has moved here from London, where he's been studying neuroscience for the last 30 years. He's an expert in many fields, but is known as one of the top surgeons in the world. Getting him on staff was nothing short of a miracle,” she said brightly.

Another thump of Stiles' heart.

“Melissa? Does this me.. Does this mean?”John staggered.

Nurse McCall nodded.

“After reviewing your case and looking at your latest X-Rays, he's willing to perform the operation,” she said, biting back a set of happy tears.

Stiles froze. John froze. Scott froze.

“What is his odds?”John finally asked, nearly crushing Stiles' hand.

Melissa beamed. “Dr. Martin is optimistic. He's worked on tumors half the size of Stiles'. Not that there's ZERO risk, but the way he's talking, you'd think that you were just getting your tonsils out. I've researched his success rate to make sure he wasn't all talk, and we're looking at at least 90% for a full recovery. He's really THAT good,” she said, bouncing up and down with the news.

Stiles felt a small chuckle bubble up in his stomach.

Mrs. McCall NEVER sugarcoated anything. She didn't believe in false hope, instead choosing to be direct, but never pessimistic. She'd never be saying this if it weren't true.

“He... He what?” John staggered out.

Scott's face beamed, and he choked on his own breath, finding it difficult to breath. “M... Mom?”

“Stiles... You're going to live,” Melissa said, throwing her arms around Stiles' neck.

“You're going to live Stiles! You're going to live, and finish high school, and meet the love of your life and do everything you've ever wanted!” Melissa shrieked happily.

“N... No... No, you're.. You're serious? You're serious, aren’t you? PLEASE tell me this is not a bad joke to make me feel better, because if this is a joke, I'll seriously kick your ass this halfway to Tues... Tues... Tuesday....” Stiles spewed out, unable to hold back.

The tears didn't stop flowing, just like the night before.

Only this time, however, they couldn't stop laughing.

 

+

 

(Four Months Later)

 

The Hale house was as lively as ever for a Saturday afternoon. Their open living area was crammed with the younger brothers chasing each other with fake weapons, while his parents lounged on the couch and watched a movie.

Derek, as most of his Saturdays ended up being spent, was doing advanced reading for his homework. Though it wasn't really homework, given the fact that he'd already read the material five times during his therapy treatments. More like “fun reading”, given that he'd spent the rest of the week's free time doing tutoring sessions at the college for the freshman.

At last, until Derek felt his little brothers tugging at his hair from behind.

“DEREK, WE'RE BORED!” one shouted, pouting angrily.

Derek glared at his little brothers shaking his book at them. “I'm READING,” he said, sticking his tongue out at them.

Two simultaneous and guilt-inducing whines later, and Derek's Saturday plans were immediately shot to hell.

Sighing, Derek shook his head. “Fine. Let me eat lunch, finish this chapter, and we'll play Horse outside. Go get your basketball,”he shot back.

They both cheered in response, dashing up the stairs and arguing at each other over who would go first.

Rolling his eyes, Derek went back to his book.

Though he no sooner had gotten three or four pages in when Cora popped by, carrying a tray of food. All his favorites were on it. Steak and cheese grilled sandwiches, and a bowl of fresh fruit.

“Lunch is ready Der-Bear!” Cor exclaimed, pecking a kiss on his cheek.

Derek smiled, banging his head on Cora's.

“Thank you Cora. You didn't have to go to all that trouble,” he responded, snagging up one of his sandwiches and taking a large bite.

Cora smirked, watching Derek moan with her tasty ctooking.

“I LIKE helping my big brother out. I mean, you'd do the same for me? Well, except the cooking, you've always kind of sucked at that,” Cora responded, plopping down on Derek's lap. “I'm glad you're back. The REAL you, not that... Not that corpse we talked to for a couple of months after the accident. You seriously scared me, Derek,” she said, leaning her head against Derek's.

“Me too,” Derek said, putting his half-eaten sandwich back down. “My head was up my ass,” he grumbled, sighing.

“What changed?” Cora asked pleasantly.

Derek's face curved in a soft smile. “I met someone in rehab. He kicked my ass and never let me give up, even for a second. I'd come back to my room after a bad session and complain, and he'd slap me or give me a pep talk. Never let me feel sorry for myself, not for a second,” he said, in an adoring tone.

Cora saw the change in Derek's face. It was softer, kinder, and even more lovely than when she'd seen him being around Paige.

“What happened to him? He might appreciate a visitor, you know,” Cora said, hopping out of Derek's lap and stretching out.

Derek shrugged. “I'm not sure... I tried to phone him after I got settled in here, but he'd already been checked out. Apparently, he was moved into the recovery section of the hospital, and I couldn't reach him. Patient rights and all that, since I wasn't family,” he said. His soft features melted, back to his usual stoic glare.

“Oh... Well, if he was out of rehab and into recovery, I guess that's a good thing, right? It means he got well enough to have visitors,” Cora offered, hoping to cheer her brother up.

Derek smiled. “Yeah. That's a very good thing,” he said, going back to his food and his book. “I got to eat and read fast. The boys are going to be jumping on me in the next five minutes,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Cora snorted. “Oh sure. You LOVE it and you know it,” she said, slapping Derek on the back of the head as she moved back into the kitchen to make her own lunch.

“I'm REALLY getting tired of slapping!” Derek shouted to himself, huffing as he went back to his book.

Ignoring the doorbell that rang, Derek downed the last of his lunch, throwing his book to the side. Spinning around with his wheelchair, Derek started his path to the backyard. Based on his brothers' aim, they wouldn't be out very long, so there wouldn't be a need to change into different clothes.

At least, he'd nearly made it outdoors before his Uncle Peter snagged the back of his chair.

“Derek?” Peter asked coldly.

Groaning, Derek rubbed his forehead. “I've asked you NOT to grab me like that. VERY rude,” he said, growling with his words.

Peter chuckled. “Just another wonderful way to aggravate my favorite nephew,” he said with a warm smile. “There's a visitor for you, if you have the time for him,” he explained.

Rolling his eyes, Derek sighed. “If it's Boyd, you can let him in, we need to mourn last night's ball game together. If it's Jackson, tell him to fuck off because I do NOT need to hear about his latest string of one-night stands,” he said annoyingly.

“Not quite. He says he's your... Buddy? Whatever that means,” Peter said, turning Derek around and pushing him towards the front door.

“Buddy? What kind of-” Derek started to say, silenced as he spotted the man in the entryway.

“Hey! It's Hospital Buddy!” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek's mouth opened, gaping until his Uncle Peter closed it for him. “It's rude to leave your mouth hanging open like that,” he hummed, leaving the two alone, while shooting Stiles a thumbs up when out of Derek's sight.

“You're... You're here!” Derek staggered.

Stiles was... Glowing.

His hair had grown back into a short fuzz around his head. Instead of those ridiculous hospital gowns and undershirts, he actually wore a vividly red hoodie. He was tanned, and looked incredibly healthy.

“Yep, hope you don't mind. Hospital buddies have to check up on each other,” Stiles said, fist bumping with Derek as he got closer.

“I uh... I'm sorry it took so long to find you. I was just so fucking THRILLED to be better that I sort of... Well, to be honest, I forgot about you for a bit. I didn't leave dad's side for like a month, and got to talk to all my friends again, and we like had the BEST first day back at school,” Stiles exclaimed, plopping down in the entryway's seat.

“Gee, thanks for forgetting me,” Derek said, smirking as he said it.

“FOR A BIT! JEEZE I thought I was dying and found out I wasn't, can I have a bit of a reprieve?” Stiles said, pouting sadly.

“Fine, sure, whatever. How are you doing? How's it going with your life?” Derek said, wheeling next to Stiles.

Stiles grinned. “I graduated high school, for one. A year late, but I met an AWESOME friend named Lydia Martin from the hospital, whose dad moved here after he performed the operation on me. I mean, I'm into guys so she's totally not my style, but DAMN she's a BAMF. We went to prom together too, you should have SEEN the assholes that were pissed at me,” he laughed.

Slowly, Derek pictured Stiles dancing. It was not a pretty sight.

“I uh... I got into Berkeley So did Lydia, actually, we're going to live on an on-campus apartment together. Going for Criminal Justice, and I'm going to try and be a detective. Maybe even Sheriff one day, like my dad. Oh, and my Dad's back at work FINALLY. His leave was for basically seven months, and he too another two months after I got to go back home. I kicked his ass out though, because damn, I need my space man!” Stiles said rapidly, clearly excited.

“How's that friend of yours? Scott?” Derek asked.

Stiles beamed. “Dude, Scott is AWESOME. So like, college was never going to be a thing for him, but he got into the police academy. He's training to be a deputy and loving it!” he exclaimed

Derek tried to listen as Stiles talked, but instead just stared at his face. The way he blinked way too rapidly when he talked about something he was. How he animated his communication with hand gestures and rocked back and forth in his chair. He barely noticed as the minutes turned into hours, and all he could do was try an immortalize Stiles' face in his head.

“DEREK,” Stiles shouted.

Snapped out of his head, Derek wiped his eyes. “Dazed off there,” he grumbled.

Stiles smirked. “Like I was saying...We'd gone to see how much in debt we'd be, expecting hundreds of thousands of dollars. I mean, a top-notch neurosurgeon and hospice care for the better part of a year? Dad had already planned on giving up the house and declaring bankruptcy. We were LITERALLY packed and ready to move into my friend's house,” he said.

Derek looked away, sighing.

“So we went to the hospital to get our bill, and surprise of all surprises, when we look at it and find that the remaining balance is zero dollars. Someone... Someone had paid our bill for us under an anonymous name. All of it. All of the hundreds of thousands of dollars, since my dad's insurance didn't cover any of it,”Stiles said, standing up and plopping down on Derek's lap. “My dad cried for a week, Derek. He literally sat on the couch and cried he was so happy. He had his son, his home, and I think it was the first time since mom died that he actually thanked God.” he said happily.

“That's... That's good! I mean-”

Stiles slapped Derek on the face. “Shush, I'm talking,” he whispered. Derek shot Stiles an angry glare, but stayed quiet anyway.

“Me? Well, I'm not as religious as my dad is. I wanted to find out who would do that sort of thing for me? Because frankly, nobody knew me in school. I was an outcast, even after the dying thing. We don't even have family or rich relatives. Isn't that suspicious?” Stiles said, shooting Derek a knowing look.

“Ah... Well then, did you-”

Stiles slapped Derek against the back of the head again. “I said I'm talking!” he shouted.

Growling again, Derek still kept his trap shut.

“Then I checked the hospital records, my buddy Danny is really good at hacking and shit, and we found out about a certain someone on the Board of Directors. A certain someone named Laura Hale? “A Laura Hale who donated an entire wing in exchange for my operating costs? A certain Hale who... You know, HIRED Dr. Martin to come on staff? Funny thing, I seemed to recall another Hale that I was friends with,” he said. There could be no other shit eating grim as curved as Stiles'.

Derek chuckled. He didn't bother to speak, for fear of another slap.

“Took me a while, but I finally remembered my rehab roomie. The rehab roomie who had a sister named Laura who worked at the hospital. A roomie named Derek Hale. The crippled dude who actually busted his ass and managed to make a life for himself,” Stiles said brightly.

“Can I talk now?” Derek asked, covering his face.

Derek felt Stiles' arms crush his neck

“Derek... You saved my life. You saved my father's house, and made us a family again. Why'd you do it?” Stiles asked, trying not to crush his friend, while simultaneously crushing him.

“Actually, my sister did most of that.”

Stiles slapped Derek across the back of the head. “Shut up, I'm going for a moment,” he grumbled.

Laughing, Derek shook his head. “I told Laura how you helped me. My family owns that hospital and we're worth a small fortune. I told you I could never repay you for giving me back my life, but I figured.. You know? Maybe giving you your life back would... Make us even?” he tried to explain.

Stiles stood up from Derek's lap, letting go of his friend's body.

“You gave me my life back. Dude, that's... That's like the best gift EVER,” Stiles said, flashing his teeth in a smile.

Derek shook his head. “You did to me too,” he said, raising his hand up and taking Stiles' in his own.

They tightened their grip.

“So, uh... I think you promised me a drink? I'm on meds, so they'll have to be a coke, but hell, who said it had to be alcoholic?” Stiles asked.

“Only if you promise not to slap me when I talk. What do you think I am, a dog?” Derek spat.

Ignoring Derek's request, Stiles stepped behind him, and grabbed his chair's arms. He bent down and kissed Derek firmly on the lips. Derek reciprocated, kissing back and nibbling at Stiles' lips.

“DEREK'S KISSING! DEREK'S KISSING!”

Both Stiles and Derek shot up and turned around.

Apparently the entire Hale family had gathered to watch them make out.

Talia giggled. “Be home before 8 sweetheart. Your father will have dinner ready, and we want to meet your lovely boyfriend,” she said.

“Don't do anything I did in my college years,” Peter said, chuckling to himself.

“Oh my God, get me out of here!” Derek shouted.

“You got it pup,” Stiles said, smirking at Derek's silent rage as they both left the Hale home for their first of many dates.

 


End file.
